They were dancing sportively farther and farther from the shore. The water broke, now and again, and slapped the boat playfully.
“We ‘ve come ‘most three miles,” said Aladdin.
“I daren’t go back if I could now,” said Margaret.
Meanwhile Aladdin scanned the horizon far and wide to see if he could see anything of Antheus, tossed by the winds, or the Phrygian triremes, or Capys, or the ships having upon their lofty poops the arms of Caicus. There was no help in sight. Far and wide was the bubbling ruffled river, behind the mainland, and ahead the leafy island.
“What’ll your father do, ‘Laddin?”
Aladdin merely grinned, less by way of explaining what his father would do than of expressing to Margaret this: “Have courage; I am still with you.”
“‘Laddin, we’re not going so fast.”
They had run into nominally still water, and the skiff was losing momentum.
“Maybe we’d better land on the island,” said Aladdin, “if we can, and wait till the tide turns; won’t be long now.”
Again he plied the oars, and this time with success. For after a little they came into the shadow of the island, the keel grunted upon sand, and they got out. There was a little crescent of white beach, with an occasional exclamatory green reed sticking from it, and above was a fine arch of birch and pine. They hauled up the boat as far as they could, and sat down to wait for the tide to turn. Firm earth, in spite of her awful spiritual forebodings, put Margaret in a more cheerful mood. Furthermore, the woods and the general mystery of islands were as inviting as Punch.